”I wouldn’t be so gullible. You know them for two days.”

”I’m not gullible, girl. I judge by what I see and I see the right stuff,” Marcus claimed, shrugging.

After almost an hour-long drive Marcus turned off the highway to the Terminal Island. He cruised down a few lanes and alleyways, at one point wheeling into one large desolate area that resembled an abandoned parking lot. In the distance Bette saw a car and a group of people hanging around it.

When Marcus got close to them, he sweepingly moved the SUV in front of the other vehicle and came to a halt.

”It’s them?” Bette asked, checking out the two men and one woman that were unfamiliar to her.

”Uh-huh,” Marcus confirmed. He glanced at the brunette, whose face expression was stoic, unreadable, and then at the small group that watched them expectantly from the outside as well. ”You comin’?”

Nodding, Bette opened the door and stepped out of the car. She walked at a leisurely pace the short distance toward the gang, taking her time to study the strangers. One of the men was tall and thin with light-brown, stylishly disheveled hair. He was propped up against the car with his long leg crossed at the ankle and with his hands buried in his jeans pockets. Bette thought his pretty little face had a touch of foxiness, mostly judging by the way he was smirking just a wee bit. The other man stood next to him in a defensive posture for his arms were crossed across his broad chest. Moreover, his hedgehog haircut and sullen look added hostility to his appearance, but to Bette he gave the impression of a pretender, no more no less. Looking sideways, Bette was immediately met by a pair of dark-brown eyes that stared at her impassively. But then the brunette saw something in them, something that made her blood boil abruptly. There were condemnation, haughtiness in that look, as if the woman was trying to put her out of countenance. Bette strained her vision, sizing the woman up from top to bottom and back. She took note of her black hair, which was pulled into a tight bun, and well-defined triceps that complemented her dark complexion. She had on a leather biker vest and black faded jeans that clung to her body in all the right places. Bette set her jaw and finally acknowledged Shane with a nod, then looked briefly at Helena, who avoided her gaze. Bette chose to ignore her.